


On the Benefits of Taking a Break

by cyanspica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bitter Gabriel, Dean Being an Asshole, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, Fix-It, Gabriel (Supernatural) Needs a Hug, Gabriel Has Issues, M/M, Mother Hen Castiel, Please Just Let My Child Be Happy, Post-Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanspica/pseuds/cyanspica
Summary: Sometimes, Gabriel thought that he might just be a little bit in love with Sam Winchester. Most of the time, though? Most of the time, he fucking hated the kid. Or that was what he told himself, anyways.





	On the Benefits of Taking a Break

 

  **On the Benefits of Taking a Break**

 

                Sometimes, Gabriel thought that he might be just a little bit in love with Sam Winchester.

                Sam Winchester, whose soul still shone bright white even between dark stains and bloody gouges that’d been so much shallower when Gabriel had seen him last. Sam, who’d always seen good in him even when Gabriel didn’t know where to find it anymore. Sam, the kid that Gabriel had damned to kickstart the apocalypse because of a couple mistakes he’d made a few millennia ago, but who’d soldiered on to save the world anyways.

                Wasn’t like Gabriel hadn’t tried to atone for what he’d done, though.

 _Fuck_ , had he tried.

                Trying to save Sam Tuesday after Tuesday was the first thing he’d really fought to do in centuries. Every day was another chance for him to try to nail his lesson into Sam’s head, but all it’d ended up doing was dashing what little remained of Sam’s faith on the rocks. The kid hadn’t learned anything; all he’d done was grow colder and quieter.

                No matter what Gabriel had ever said or done past or present, the Mystery Spot had never been a game. It was him trying to save Sam, trying to show him how to break the toxic cycle he and Dean had started with each other.

                Now that he’d been to Hell, experienced it for himself? He would’ve put Sam through a hundred thousand more Tuesdays if the lesson might’ve finally caught, saved the kid from that very place.

                Obviously, Sam hadn’t ever caught onto that. From what Gabriel had pieced together, unleashing an ancient evil was still a biennial event for the Winchesters and their company.

                Gabriel wanted to say he was too bitter, too angry to bother with a single one of them anymore.

                It would’ve been a lie, of course, because the truth was that he was just tired.

                He was tired of a world that didn’t want to stay saved, tired of the duty everyone kept telling him he was tied to, tired of being asked to toss himself around for a greater good that he just didn’t really give a damn about anymore.

                It wasn’t his job to clean up the messes the Winchesters made. And if this happened to be the time they’d let something too big to be stuffed back into the hole it’d crawled out of?

                Well, it wasn’t his fucking problem, was it?

                Because most of the time? Most of the time, Gabriel regretted the day he ever bothered to spare Sam Winchester a second look. That was what he told himself, anyways.

                Maybe the kid had had finally taken one too many hits over the head during the time Gabriel had been gone. He must’ve, Gabriel reasoned, to ask him to take on a souped-up archangel only minutes after he’d dragged himself out of the corner Asmodeus had him crammed into for centuries.

                Michael outranked Gabriel easily, and that was even without factoring in that he was coming back into the game after a long leave of absence. To take him on now would be a death sentence, and Gabriel’s taken on one too many of those for the Winchesters already.

                If Sam doesn’t know that he’d been damning him to a smiting, then he was even more of a goddamned idiot than Gabriel would’ve given him credit for. What was more likely, Gabriel decided, is that he really doesn’t give a damn about him.

                Hell, the only reason Sam had even helped Gabriel in the first place was out of need. They’d needed his Grace, needed him healed to clean up the shit show they’d put into play.

                He didn’t owe any of them jack shit.

                Sam least of all.

                And right then? Right then, he really, _really_ hated Sam, because the stupid kid’s voice won’t stop rattling around in his head.

                _I need you._

“Fuck off,” Gabriel snarled to himself, nails digging deep grooves into his palms.

                But it wasn’t like Sam had ever listened to him to begin with.

“Not enjoying the show?” came a confused voice in response—one that was decidedly feminine, and decidedly not Sam’s.

                Gabriel snapped back to reality, doing his best to shake off any higher thought processes. Fuck. He’d forgotten he had an audience—or that he was the audience, more accurately.

“My bad, sweetheart. Just have a lot on my mind,” Gabriel reassured her, flashing his most disarming smile as he leaned forwards to slip a hundred in her garter. “Keep doing your thing.”

                Gabriel settled back into his chair, doing his best to shove any intrusive thoughts of idiots out of his mind to focus on what was in front of him.

                He didn’t necessarily have a type, but there was certainly something about her in particular that’d caught his attention tonight. She was tall and lean, with doe eyes and long, brown hair he couldn’t help but want to thread his fingers through and— _fucking Christ._

Sensing his change in mood, she paused. Sympathy filtering onto her features in a way that only a stripper could really manage, and she smiled consolingly at him.

“Girlfriend problems?”

                He scrubbed a hand over his face, vaguely wishing that Lucifer had picked the right duplicate.

“Something like that.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

               

                Gabriel threw himself back into his work. The concentration of assholes on the world was a hell of a lot higher than it was when he was on it last, so he got back on track with gusto. His modus operandi veered less towards humiliating and more towards violent compared the masterpieces he’d pulled off just before he’d been captured.

                Fine. He didn’t make a point of dwelling on it. If the fuckers that’d screwed him over knew he was coming, then he’d just have all the more fun hunting them down.

                His success was that was going slower than he would’ve liked, but he had been out of the game for a while. He’d get where he needed to go, given enough time.

                Hell, with the added distraction of catching up on work, he’d even managed to push thoughts of the Winchesters and his baby brother out of mind.

_“Gabriel doesn’t have the right to say no.”_

                Or so he’d thought, right up until Dean’s voice pushed its way into his mind, hostile and harsh.

                Gabriel blinked for a moment, freezing where he stood. There was a terrified frat boy at his feet, babbling bullshit about how he hadn’t meant to poison some pledge, but he was already beneath the focus of the archangel’s notice.

                There was only so much blasphemy Gabriel was willing to take, and he’d heard his fair share already.

“I’ll be right back,” he darkly assured the kid before cutting into the prayer line Dean had inadvertently opened with his name.

                Now that he had a lock on their home base, it was only a quick one-two snap before Gabriel stood in the center of their bunker. Before the Winchesters could even so much as react to his presence, he was already in motion.

                Gabriel lunged for Dean, hauled him up off his feet by the collar of his stupid fucking flannel, and slammed him hard enough against a wall that the hunter’s skull would’ve cracked if there’d been an ounce more of force behind him. Dean—the absolute fucking bastard—even had the _nerve_ to look stunned, like he was expecting anything else.

“That’s where you’re wrong, kid,” Gabriel snarled. His voice bordered dangerously on his _Voice_ , and every lightbulb in the room burst into a thousand shards to prove just how pissed he was. “You should show me some fucking respect.”

                Dean sputtered in response, his face was already turning a lovely shade of oxygen deprived blue.

“Gabriel,” Sam tried to start, but Gabriel cut him off with a snap of his fingers.

                There was no way he was about to let the only person capable of convincing him that it was a good idea to flip calendar over to Wednesday get a word in edgewise, and even less when he wanted a favor that was probably going to be more than a little fatal.

                Apparently enough time around the Winchesters was enough to make even his baby brother lose his mind, because he sprang forwards like he was going to take Gabriel on in a one-on-one match to free Dean. Castiel flew back with a wave of his hand, and Gabriel only felt a little bad when he heard his baby brother _crack_ and then groan as he collided with a bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room.

                Sam mouthed uselessly at him for a moment before he seemed to piece together that his voice had been whisked away until further notice, and thankfully he was clever enough not to make a move, because Gabriel really would’ve regretted bruising up a face like his.

                The archangel spun back to Dean, eyes glowing blue. The air around him crackled ominously, overcharged with electricity that he was just barely avoiding letting loose, and the scent of ozone was thick and heavy in the air.

“You can’t comprehend how many rules I’ve broken for you. For all of you. How many times have I tried to save you? How many times have I helped you? Every lesson I’ve ever tried to drill into your skulls has been for a reason. But even with everything I’ve given you, all of you have still managed to break the world more times than you’ve saved it,” Gabriel growled, jerking Dean just a little bit higher off the ground. “Your messes aren’t mine to clean up, not anymore.”

                Dean’s fingers tried to tear away the fingers at his throat, but he must’ve forgotten that Gabriel was an archangel, too. Would make sense, given just how much respect they gave him.

“Leave me out of this,” Gabriel harshly warned him just as Dean’s eyes started to roll back into his head.

                He dropped the hunter, watching with no small amount of amusement as he crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

“Funny,” Dean snapped at him the moment Castiel’s hand had pulled away. Or he tried to snap, at least. He didn’t sound nearly as threatening when his face was bright cherry red and he was wheezing for air. “Sam was just telling me we should do the same thing.”

                Gabriel eyes flickered to his favorite Winchester, who still stood frozen behind him, and he was helpless to stop the smile that crept up at the edges of his mouth.

“Always knew there was a reason you were my favorite,” Gabriel commented, tone just a touch too fond.

                He froze for just a flash as the realization hit him before he reverted back to his usual smile, even if was a little more forced than usual. As long as Sam didn’t know the reason why, he figured.

                Gabriel snapped his fingers once. Sensing his vocal restrictions were off, Sam opened his mouth to say something. But what exactly it was, Gabriel didn’t stick around to find out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Dean still wouldn’t shut up about him, so Gabriel pulled out a truly ingenious old trick of his, mixed it with a little spellwork, said a couple words. And like a charm, any Winchester or any one of their angels stupid enough to so much as mention his name started coughing up slugs soon after.

                Huge ones, too—the nasty banana kind. Gabriel didn’t believe in cutting corners when he’d been wronged.

                Sam didn’t exactly pray at the first instance his little trick was put into play, per se, but there was enough of a thought about the archangel to qualify as a prayer. It was with less reluctance than he should’ve that he tuned in, and as if there hadn’t been enough on his mind already, now he had the sound of Sam’s laughter spinning through his skull at all hours of the day.

                Dean was too busy cursing him until he was choking on mouthfuls of escargot, but the archangel was too distracted to give much of a damn.

                Sam really ought to laugh more often.

                Gabriel sighed, ran a hand through his hand, and reminded himself that there were worse things to have stuck in his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                It took Sam a whopping total of six days for him to nearly die after Gabriel’s initial departure. It was more than the archangel would’ve given him, all things considered.

 _“Gabriel,”_ Sam’s mind supplied, woozy and faint like he’d slurred it out before he’d had a chance to think better of it.

                Gabriel knew that if he were smart, he’d shut Sam’s little prayer hotline down in a second. But even though he was capable of realizing when he was doing something obscenely stupid that he was imminently going to regret, that didn’t mean he ever actually listened.

                Gabriel should’ve cut him off, but instead he just fine-tuned the radio until he was there. Metaphysically, that was. He was still smart enough not to teleport himself to the scene outright.

Maybe he should’ve, though. Between the semi-intact hand he had slammed over his stomach and the majority of his guts trying to ooze their way around it, Sam wasn’t in good shape.

                Gabriel dragged in a ragged inhale at the sight of blood.

                Sam was far from through with him yet, it seemed, because before panic could truly take hold of him, Gabriel was thrown into a memory.

                Prayer, at its core, was nothing more than concentrated thoughts. And thoughts were never expressed only in words alone; thoughts were feelings, sights, colors, sounds. Words only happened naturally in short bursts, and people thought with memories most of all.

                The only thing that came as a surprise was that Gabriel saw himself. He’d expected Dean. Castiel, even. He wouldn’t have put down his face as the one Sam would think of when faced with death on any given day, and he still wasn’t entirely convinced it was him.

                But Lucifer stood in the foreground, so that had to be him standing nearby, blade raised as he shifted around the room. So they were at Elysian Fields, then. Gabriel moved cautiously, careful to keep himself Sam and Dean and Kali behind him, and Lucifer in front.

                A feeling of hope surged through Sam, but beneath that, a deep fear cut him down to his core. Scarred-over loss slashed itself back open, bring a fresh surge of guilt with it. Sam was afraid for him, Gabriel realized.

                Gabriel glanced back to Sam over his shoulder, but before the hunter could get a good luck, get a grasp on what it might mean, Dean dragged him out the door.

 _“Please,”_ Sam’s mind desperately supplied, eyes locked onto Gabriel and Lucifer until the second the door slammed shut in front of him. There was a surge of something else now, something that Gabriel was more familiar with than he wanted to admit when it came to Sam. _“Come back.”_

                The memory ended, and Gabriel was back to looming over a room with a violently overpowered witch on one end and a bleeding out Sam on the other.

                Gabriel didn’t want to manifest. He _really_ didn’t want to, because that’d mean that he’d gotten involved. And the last time he’d gotten involved, he’d had to feign sacrificing himself just to get Heaven, Hell, and hunters off his back.

                But he wanted to see Sam die even less. Enough to risk having go through the whole thing again—hell, even enough to not just feign death.

                _Fuck._

He was willing to die for a Winchester, and the thought hit him so hard that he couldn’t help but to wonder how Castiel ever kept it under wraps.

                By actually dying, maybe? He had died a lot recently, hadn’t he?

                Gabriel would have to ask.

                Sam opened his mouth like he was going to ask for help, but instead just slurred out a weak _sorry_ , then slumped forwards into an unconscious heap.

“Damn you,” Gabriel hissed even though he couldn’t even muster up any real bitterness in his voice, already raising a hand to snap himself there.

                And maybe he’d accidentally said loud enough for Sam to hear, because a quick one-two flash of something that Gabriel didn’t really want to think too much about flickered on Sam’s face.

                As it turned out, though, he never had to finish the motion.

                Splinters rained across the room as Castiel blasted down the door, Dean in tow with a particularly vicious looking shotgun. He lowered his hand.

                Gabriel cut off the connection.

                He had a lot of thinking to do, and none of it needed to be done sober.

               

 

* * *

    

  

                Well, Gabriel had put his money on Sam before. It’d been under different circumstances, admittedly, but he felt pretty sure the sentiment still applied.

                He snapped himself into the bunker early in the morning, and he must’ve had a rare streak of luck, because he timed it just right. Sam seemed to have just sat down for breakfast, but Dean and his mother hen were nowhere in sight. Gabriel crossed his arms, heaving out a dramatic sigh.

“You should start cutting back the number of instances you nearly die in a month.”

                Sam spun around his seat like a whirlwind, and Gabriel nearly ended up fallen victim to the indignity of being stabbed by a butter knife. Still, it was more than worth it for the withering glare sent his way alone. He sauntered forwards, ignoring every single empty chair around the table in favor of sitting in the one right next to Sam’s.

 “You’ve been missing for two weeks and that’s all you have to say?” Sam questioned, almost certainly not sounding nearly as angry as he’d meant to.

Gabriel grinned, his smile just edging on sideways. He leaned forwards on his elbows, arching a brow before pointedly asking,

“I came back, didn’t I?”

                Sam froze like a deer in headlights over his bowl of whatever tasteless pulp he was trying to pass off as food, and Gabriel knew he’d struck the right chord.

“Gabriel,” Sam started, voice edging on panic before he abruptly cut himself off.

                He started choking about two seconds later, and it was only after a slug made it onto the table that Gabriel remembered he hadn’t lifted that particular spell yet.

                Gabriel was too busy laughing—genuinely _laughing_ for the first time in longer than he could remember—to bother with lifting the curse until fingers tangled in his collar and yanked him close, and, yeah, he really didn’t want to down gastropod this early in the morning. The spell was gone in a snap, and he met him easily, lips fitting perfectly against the piece he hadn’t even known he’d been missing.

                Yeah, Gabriel decided, maybe there were still some things he could never get tired of.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> was gabriel contemplating his whole life in a strip club in the first scene?
> 
> absoutely.
> 
> leave kudos and a comment if you liked it and hit me up @supernaturalsimply on tumblr!! i'm just as much as an actual human fucking disaster there as I am here lmao


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